Round 139

The building's groan deepens into something that sounds like tearing metal, and Jeane feels her control slip another notch. The wardstone pulses faster now, insistent, and she has to fight the urge to let the spell collapse entirely—let the energy flood out and take its chances with whatever's waiting beyond the door. But no. That's exactly what it wants. She grits her teeth and yanks the spell back into shape with a curse that makes Hera flinch.

"Two minutes," she gasps, sweat beading on her forehead. "Maybe. I can't hold this much longer." The barrier shimmers like heat haze before snapping back into place with a sound like tearing cloth. She's burning through her reserves faster than she anticipated—Hera's fear is like a siphon pulling energy from her every time the girl looks toward that dark corridor. And Silra... what is Silra doing? Just standing there in the water, staring at the ceiling like it might offer answers.

"Silra," Jeane snaps, voice sharp with barely controlled panic. "If you're going to find an escape route, do it now before we are all buried alive or worse." Her eyes flick to Hera—cowering near the unstable doorframe, mirror clutched like a shield—and something protective flares in her chest alongside the fear. "And Hera—sweet girl—if you move one step closer to that shaft opening, I will personally drag you back here and chain you to the wall." The energy in the stone pulses again, and Jeane feels it like a physical blow. "That thing is not something we can bargain with; it's trying to pull us in."

Halie shifts her weight, hands still gripping the doorframe even though they burn from the contact. She needs you to stay back from that dark corridor. I don't know what's in there, but whatever it is, it answers us with wrongness. Her jaw tightens as another pulse ripples through the stone under their feet—constant now, insistent. She turns toward Hera properly for the first time since they started bracing this door—the girl is standing frozen near the unstable frame, mirror clutched like a lifeline.

"What's happening?" Hera asks, voice shaking. "Why won't it just stop?"

"It won't," Halie says, gentler than she feels. "The building's coming down around us." She glances at Jeane—the sorcerer is sweating, face contorted with concentration as she maintains some kind of barrier spell against the energy bleeding through from beyond the door. How long can she hold that? The answer matters more than Halie wants to admit.

"I need you to stay here," Halie continues, stepping closer to Hera without quite touching her—still too aware of how close proximity makes her skin crawl with conflicted sensation. "I'll keep you safe." Another pulse hits and Hera gasps, pressing back against the wall. Her eyes are wide, terrified, and something in Halie's chest twists despite herself.

"Don't," she says quickly as Hera starts to slide down the wall toward the floor. "Stay upright—it's safer." She reaches out instinctively to steady the girl before catching herself mid-motion. No. Touching her is... complicated. Dangerous, even if Halie doesn't fully understand why.

"Just... stay still," Halie adds, voice rougher than intended. "And don't look toward that dark corridor again." She turns back to the doorframe, hands gripping tighter as another pulse rumbles through the stone. The wood is starting to splinter along the grain—structural integrity failing. Great.

Silra traces the ceiling joists with her fingers in the dark corridor, feeling for stress fractures. The wardstone pulse thrums through the floorboards under her boots—it wants them closer, but she's not playing that game. Too many variables here, none of them good. The water flooding out from the broken shower stall is already ankle-deep and spreading fast; the floorboards feel spongy underfoot. And the lubricant spilled earlier isn't helping—the whole fucking corridor is a slip hazard waiting to happen.

"Jeane's voice is cracking over there," Silra mutters to herself, eyes tracking the sorcerer's strained posture. "Good. Let her feel what it means to be the anchor point right now while we figure out how not to die in this collapsing shitshow of a high rise." She doesn't have time for grand heroics or romantic gestures. The building is groaning louder with every passing second—structural integrity compromise is inevitable at this point.

"Escape route," she says under her breath, scanning the walls again. "Has to be something..." Her eyes land on the wardstone itself, pulsing ominously in the darkness beyond Jeane's barrier spell. Nope. Not that way. The thing wants them closer for a reason, and Silra isn't curious enough to find out what that reason is.

"Fuck this," she mutters, turning back toward the main room. If they can't go forward or down, maybe there's still something useful in the mess they left behind? At least the wardstone energy is contained for now—Jeane might be losing her shit trying to maintain the barrier, but she's holding it. For now.

"Hera wants to rush into that dark corridor," Silra notes with clinical detachment as she wades back through the water toward the barricade. "Classic panic response—flight instead of fight." She eyes the civilian woman pressed against the wall, mirror still clutched like a security blanket. "Stupid, but understandable. We all have our coping mechanisms."

She reaches the barricade and starts shoving debris aside—anything that might serve as a makeshift tool or support beam if they can brace something properly. The water's already waist-deep in places now, and she doesn't want to think about what happens when the power goes out completely. Or when Jeane's spell finally collapses.

"Need options," Silra mutters, grabbing a length of heavy pipe from the debris pile. "Something I can use..." Her eyes land on the discarded bondage gear—ropes, chains, metal rings—and she pauses mid-reach. "Huh."